


The Exiled Prince

by Tea-Diva (Revenant)



Category: Generation Kill, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, POV Outsider, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revenant/pseuds/Tea-Diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A genetically enahnced super-soldier from the 1940s walks into a bar and orders a drink from a Norse God from the planet Asgard. The punchline is: this isn't a joke, it's just another day in Agent Kocher's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Exiled Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amoama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** This story is a work of fiction based on the fictionalized characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. I do not own the characters or the series, or the book that inspired it; nor am I profiting from this in any way. I intend no disrespect to the real men on whom the book was based.
> 
>   
>  **Read @** [LiveJournal](http://tea-diva.livejournal.com/19697.html)   
> 

Maria Hill spares him only a fleeting glance as he strides into the Level Seven Lounge in the S.H.I.E.L.D Hub. Kocher had been hoping to find the room empty, and with there being only so many S.H.I.E.L.D agents with Level Seven clearance, and even fewer of those currently stationed in New York, the chances of an empty lounge were pretty good. 

At least his luck is consistent, he thinks to himself ruefully, flashing the other agent a grimacing smile as he strides to the freezer. When he gets there he yanks the door open with more force than necessary and grabs an icepack. He knows the precise moment she spots the bruise forming on his face because the folder she's holding drops onto the table with a soft 'thwap' sound and her distracted glance becomes laser-focus. "What happened there?" she asks, her tone purposely casual. "Thought you were on Cap-duty."

Kocher shoves the freezer door closed and presses the icepack against his throbbing cheekbone with no small amount of relief. "Apparently I pissed him off."

One dark slender eyebrow jerks upward and Hill cocks her head to the side. She looks half-impressed and half-curious. "Huh. I didn't know that was possible." Under any other circumstances he might agree that the idea of a pissed-off Captain America is novel, but currently he has other priorities. Hill's expression softens and she jerks her chin in his direction. "You should probably visit the medic for that."

"Nothing's broken," Kocher says, though he obligingly pulls the icepack away so she can scrutinize the damage. "Ouch. Quit poking at it!"

She steps back, satisfied. "He pulled his punch."

"Obviously. If he hadn't then I'd probably be standing here with half my head sunken-in."

Rolling her eyes she pushes his hand, which is still clutching the ice, back into position against his swelling cheek. "What does it feel like to be the first person Captain America took an immediate dislike to?" 

"Pretty sure Hitler was the first person Fick took an immediate dislike to," he grumbles as he drops heavily into a chair, his dark mood lifts slightly when he realizes that she is fishing two beers out of the mini-fridge they keep hidden in the far cupboard, stocked with all sorts of delicious contraband. Every Level Seven pretends that the stash is entirely secret but realistically Director Fury probably knows all about it and simply lets it be. 

First rule as a spy: pick your battles.

"So, you're second to Hitler," Hill says, laughing as she drops onto a chair and uncaps both beers, sliding one across to him.

Kocher feels compelled to correct her. "It wasn't an _immediate_ dislike."

She eyes him, her gaze assessing as she takes a drink. "Are you going to tell me how it happened?"

"It's a long story."

In answer, Hill pushes the other beer closer to his elbow, then she leans back in her chair and kicks her legs up onto the table. "I've got the time."

___________________________________________________

The short answer is this: Agent Kocher of S.H.I.E.L.D. unwittingly started a bar fight with Nathaniel Fick.

Unwitting, because Kocher was in no way looking for a fight when he wandered into the bar; and even if he had been he certainly wouldn't have picked a fight with _Captain America_ of all people. "I didn't even say anything!" he exclaims.

Hill is not convinced. She looks pointedly at his purpling eye. "Must have said _something_."

Huffing, he admits, "I said: 'Captain, fancy seeing you here.'"

"And?" she prompts.

"And then I said: 'Who's your friend?'"

"And he hauled-off and punched you in the face?" she asks, doubtfully.

"Right." 

"Okay," Hill says, slowly. "That does seem like a bit of an overreaction." 

He could leave it there but it doesn't sit right. Kocher has a great deal of respect for Nathaniel Fick and the notion of allowing Hill to believe that the guy might just deck someone because he's having on off-day is out of the question, even if it would simplify his own life immensely.

Also, there's maybe a small part of him that wants to talk about this, to float this theory he's been mulling since Fick laid him out, and there's no better person to act as sounding board than agent Hill so Kocher takes a long breath and says, "It maybe wasn't an overreaction."

"Okay." She nods, waiting patiently, and when he doesn't immediately begin explaining she gestures to his cheek. "Take that off for a bit, let it breathe."

"I know how to ice my own damned face, Maria."

"Of course you do."

The thing is, Fick is a good guy, maybe one of the best, but he's been struggling and, if Kocher is honest, there hasn't been a whole lot of people stepping up to lend the guy a hand.

Hill's fingertips rest gently on his arm as she says, "Eric, I know all of this. The man just came out of the ice a couple of months ago, and I read the same briefs you do."

"Doesn't it bother you? I mean, Fury orders constant surveillance on Fick but no one's allowed to actually talk to the guy? Maybe that's what he needs, you know?"

She smiles wryly. "A friend?"

"Sure, maybe."

Her expression looks fond, which is not a look Kocher is used to seeing on her. "Is _that_ why you went into the bar?"

"No. I went into the bar for a whole other reason…" 

She waits him out but he hasn't decided how much to tell her. She's Director Fury's right-hand and Kocher has no idea at what point duty trumps her allegiance to a fellow agent and friend. 

As always, she senses his turmoil. "Are going to tell me why you went into the bar?"

"Maybe…" 

Hill sits back, takes another long swig of beer and nods. "So, Fick laid you out."

"Right," Kocher says, getting back to the point. "He's seen me around, and he knows S.H.I.E.L.D is watching him. He might have … well, he _did_ ask me to give him at least one place where he could chill-out without feeling like he was under a microscope."

"And you said 'okay' to that?"

Kocher bristles at her tone. "Of course I said 'okay'. The guy deserves that and a whole hell of a lot more besides!"

"You sound awfully fond of him."

He shakes his head. "I feel for the guy, is all. You don't know what it was like…"

___________________________________________________

Kocher is still on the plane when they find the body in the wreckage, but he's standing right there when the last of the ice is chipped away and Doc Bryan exclaims, " _Holy Fuck_ , this guy's got a pulse."

No one asks how this is possible because everybody in the room works for S.H.I.E.L.D in some capacity: as a nurse, a doctor, an agent, and they've all read the same file that was issued by the first agent on scene. You only had to read the description of the shield, visible beneath sixteen inches of solid ice: round and gleaming, painted red, white and blue, to know what you were probably dealing with. No one said the name out loud, like it might jinx the entire operation, but everybody knew that this was Captain America, finally located after years of fruitless searching.

It takes hours to bring Fick's core body temperature up to something resembling normal but Kocher stays for every minute of it, standing in a shadowed corner of the room. At one point Doc Bryan comes over. "He's stable, if you want to get some chow in the mess or catch some shut-eye. Maybe you want to sit down?"

Kocher shakes his head. "Thanks, I'm good, Doc."

The Doc rests a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches Fick sleep. "What is it about this guy? I mean, we've got all sorts of amped-up weirdos taking on the big, the bad, and the destructive, how's he gonna be any different? Just another blunt instrument crashing through cities and inspiring the bad guys to new heights."

"You don't get it," Kocher says, quietly. "This guy represents the best in all of us. He's not fighting to earn salvation like Iron Man, or because he can't help himself, like Hasser. He's from simpler times, shit, he fought in the one war where the line between good and evil was pretty fucking obvious."

Doc snorts. "Yeah? Well if the world hasn't corrupted him yet, it sure as shit will when he wakes up."

"No, I don't think so. Not the Captain."

Doc Bryan stays there for a bit, just listening to the monitors and waiting. Then he shrugs again. "I suppose you're going to want to transport him?"

"If it's safe, Director Fury wants him brought over to New York."

"'Course he does," Bryan says darkly.

"It's not like that, man. We've got people in place who can help him … adjust."

"Adjust," Bryan scoffs. Kocher can tell by the bitter twist to the other man's mouth that he doesn't trust Fury to have anyone's best interest in mind. "It's safe enough, but I'm gonna insist that I accompany him. He's my patient."

"That won't be a problem, Doc."

Kocher has read all the files on Fick: the scrawny kid from Baltimore, Maryland; the artist turned super-soldier, the guy who never turned his back on a fight that was worth winning. Fick stands for just about everything Kocher believes in, all the great and lofty ideals that never quite make it into the translation of fantasy to reality.

"You got a schoolboy crush on the Captain, Agent?" Director Fury asks him as they walk through the Hub.

"No, sir," he says. "It's just, he's been through a lot of shit, even before the war and the serum, and he never let any of that change him. I respect that."

Fury's got his hands clasped behind his back as he strides along. He nods his head, apparently satisfied with the answer. "Stick around. When Captain Fick decides to wake up I want you to brief him on what he's missed."

"But, sir…he's been in the ice for over seventy years."

"So?"

"So?" Kocher echoes. "That's a lot to get briefed on all at once."

"It's your call, Agent. Just get it done."

As it turns out, Kocher isn't the one who ends up briefing the Captain because the second Fick wakes up he sees through the fake hospital room and breaks out of the most secure floor of the Hub, racing out into the streets of New York. So the briefing Fick gets consists of Director Fury and about thirty agents in sleek black cars, holding tranq-guns and dour expressions, surrounding him at the heart of Times Square: "You've been asleep for seventy years, Cap."

At some point Fick is moved from the Hub to a crappy apartment selected and paid for by S.H.I.E.L.D, a file tossed on a coffee table, "Those are just some of the highlights," Fury says, and then closes the door to the apartment.

___________________________________________________

Hill sighs. "I know it sounds harsh but what did you want him to do?"

"Nothing. I don't know," Kocher says. "But something more than … that. Just, the only people Fick knows are S.H.I.E.L.D agents, and Fury doesn't let any agents make friends. I mean, he has no trouble with us going on missions and hanging out with Romanoff or Barton, why's Fick different?"

"He's not officially an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D," Hill points out. "He's said he's happy to help, but Fury's never brought him into the organization, you know that. I suppose the Director is still trying to figure out how the Cap will fit into all of this."

"Respectfully, I think Fury's strategy is fucked."

She smiles. "Noted. Is that why you went into the bar?"

"What? No. I told you, I had a whole different reason for that. You're getting ahead of me."

___________________________________________________

The assignment comes to Kocher a few weeks later. "I'm not asking you to make friends," Director Fury says. "I want to know if he's found some other way out of his apartment."

"I don't understand. You mean, some other way out besides the front door?"

Director Fury raises the eyebrow above his eye patch in a smooth arch and looks at Kocher like he's an idiot, which always makes Kocher feel distinctly _like an idiot_. "There's surveillance on the street, but it's been a week and nobody's seen him. I want to know what's going on."

So Kocher goes up and knocks on Fick's apartment door. When Fick answers he looks pale, his eyes are red-rimmed and there are smudges beneath that denote lack of sleep. "Is this a spot check?" 

"No," Kocher stutters. "I just came by to … are you okay?" and then, bizarrely, he finds himself tacking on, "Sir?"

The corner of Fick's mouth quirks upward somewhat bitterly but he invites Kocher inside. The guy's a good host; he offers something to drink and something to eat. There isn't a whole hell of a lot left in the cupboards, but what there is Fick sets out on a coffee table while Kocher settles awkwardly onto the sofa wondering if he should try to help or if Fick might find that insulting. 

"Are you, uh, using that?" he finds himself asking when he realizes that there is a computer set on a desk by the window and the screensaver is running, flashing up words and definitions on the screen, one after another. 

Fick glances over to the desk and tips his head noncommittally. "Been trying to." 

Eager to be of use Kocher explains the basics on computers, and then branches out. He talks about credit cards and debit cards, and how the automated checkout machines are very particular about if and when an item should be bagged. 

"I haven't encountered one of those machines," Fick says, a curious little quirk that might be a smile tilting his mouth slightly.

"Well, they can be real bastards."

"Thanks, but I'd rather just deal with a real person. They still have those at the grocery store, right?"

"Oh sure!" They lapse into an awkward silence that stretches just long enough for Kocher to notice the telephone sitting on the end table. "Have you played around with this?"

"That technology hasn't changed all that much."

Kocher explains how Fick's answering service works instead, and at some point he gets a hold of a red Sharpy marker and a stack of post-it notes and starts writing instructions for just about anything he can think of that requires some sort of human interaction to function. 

Somewhere between the instruction on how to program the dishwasher: ("Seriously, no need to do these by hand."

"I live alone, Agent. There aren't all that many dishes to wash." ) and the television ( "I don't know what you like to watch, but here's how to program channels and record shows in case you miss them ) Fick's amused tolerance becomes teasing encouragement and Kocher finds himself writing post-its for things that can't possibly require instructions just because Fick actually laughs, a dry guffawing sound that makes his body convulse. It's the most animated Kocher has seen him since he came out of the ice, so he ends up labeling everything from Fick's window ( "If it sticks, give a firm shove" ) to the light switch ( "Up for on" ). 

On his way out, Kocher stops by the door ( "turn to open" ) and says, "There's an art supply shop around the corner. It might help to adjust if you start small."

He writes a report but doesn't think much of it. The bosses like to know how agents spend their time when they're on duty, but since nothing weird happened while he was at the apartment, and Fick didn't offer any earth-shattering information, the report is pretty low-priority and will probably get lost amidst thousands of similar documents.

Except a couple of days later Nick Fury appears suddenly and silently, freaking Kocher out though he does his best not to show it. "I hear you spent some time with the Cap."

It's one of those statement-style questions that Fury has perfected, issued in a deep flat voice that never fails to leave Kocher unbalanced, wondering if he is about to receive an accolade or a condemnation. "Yes sir."

"The surveillance detail reports Fick is getting out some. I want you to shadow his steps, make note of where he goes, what his habits are."

It doesn't even occur to Kocher to mention that he thinks this idea is messed-up because after so many years working at S.H.I.E.L.D he has come to understand that Fury creates his own game plan and generally refuses to listen to any other input, unless it comes from his right-hand, Agent Hill. 

Even Hill has complained on more than one occasion that she thinks Fury is out of his mind. They carry out the man's orders regardless because that's their job, and also because they believe when push comes to shove, Fury will have their backs. For the most part, this is true.

Besides, Fury is only one part of the chain of command and there's no telling what shit rolls down on him, though Kocher knows that there's probably a lot of idiocy that Fury stops right at the gate. Not that the man ever indicates this might be the case; the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D is a secretive sonofabitch.

Kocher follows his orders, trailing after Fick when he goes to pick-up his groceries, or goes to the gym, or walks through Central Park and sits for hours sketching statues or buildings or people dining at a cafés. Fick knows Kocher is there, and Kocher knows that Fick knows, but they both feign ignorance as a kind of courtesy to the other.

It's a pretty tedious detail at any rate. Sort of a waste for a Level Seven agent, but there isn't all that much happening around the world these days, and Kocher figures this is as much of a holiday as he's likely to get for a while. So he sits around and watches the color creep back into Fick's complexion, notes that the other man is starting to look a little less rigid, a little more relaxed even if he still wears jeans that come up to high on the waist, insisting on dressing like someone's (incredibly hot and disturbingly young) grandfather. Kocher catches the guy playing Angry Birds on a cellphone on more than one occasion, using a computer at the local library and it's sort of nice to see Fick settling in to modernity.

He doesn't realize that they've established a routine until Fick changes it. Kocher is walking down the sidewalk when suddenly Fick appears out of nowhere, snagging his arm and pulling him off to the side. It's not forceful or anything, but it's startling nevertheless because Kocher hadn't even realized he'd lost line-of-sight on his target. 

"Agent Kocher." 

"Eric, please. No need to stand on ceremony, sir."

Fick half-smiles, looks a little hesitant when he says, "I want to ask, have I done anything that makes Director Fury or S.H.I.E.L.D at all concerned with my allegiance?"

Kocher blinks. "What? No!"

"My schedule hasn't changed, I've cooperated with the surveillance teams. I haven't caused any trouble, I haven't stepped out of bounds."

"Of course not."

"Then I need to ask you for a favor." Fick licks his lips. When Kocher doesn't immediately protest the other man continues, nodding to a bar across the street. "I want to go in there and sit down and have a drink and relax. I _don't_ want to be followed. I don't want S.H.I.E.L.D making a fuss or questioning people in the bar after I go, or sitting inside and watching me. I just want _one_ place where it doesn't feel like I'm being scrutinized."

Kocher glances over at the bar. It seems respectable enough, the sign is simple and hand-painted and the frontispiece looks a bit old-fashioned but it's not rundown, and this part of town doesn't have an especially bad reputation. "You're not going anywhere else?"

"No. I'm just going in, having a drink, maybe sketching a little. Then I'll come right back out through the front door and you, or whoever else is here can follow me wherever I go. Which will probably just be back to my apartment."

"Okay," Kocher eventually concedes. "I get it. I'm good with that."

"Thanks." Fick claps a hand on his upper arm and nods sharply, looking grateful and relieved.

___________________________________________________

Hill is fixing him with a scrutinizing gaze so Kocher stops talking. When she continues to say nothing he finishes off his beer and then stands to raid the mini-fridge, returning with two fresh bottles that he uncaps. Finally, she asks, "What was so special about that bar?"

Kocher shrugs. "Nothing, as far as I know."

"Nothing." She huffs, unsatisfied with the answer. "Did you even go in there? I mean, he's fine with the surveillance, and then suddenly he asks you to butt-out of _this one place_? Why?"

"Of _course_ I wondered but, I mean, the guy was readjusting! He wanted space; I didn't think that was unreasonable. S.H.I.E.L.D has been climbing all over him since he came out of the ice. So, the first couple times I sort of figured it was just a place where he could chill-out for a bit."

"The first _couple of times_?"

"Tell me you would have made a different call, Maria."

She huffs again. If he didn’t know her as well as he does he'd accuse her of pouting. She is absolutely pouting, but Kocher knows better than to accuse her of it. "So, when you went in what did you find?"

He considers telling her that all he found was a bar-fight waiting to happen. That he purposely waited until his shift on Cap-watch was over and then promptly stumbled right onto the guy, in the one place they had agreed was off-limits. He could explain the report he stumbled across on accident that described the rather uneventful few hours spent in a bar that prompted Kocher to realize that Fick hadn't selected just any old place to declare a neutral zone, he'd picked a _particular_ place, one he'd been in before. 

Instead, Kocher shrugs and says, "It was a bar. Maybe a little old-fashioned, but I figure the Cap's an old-fashioned kind of guy. It was right up his alley."

"Well, you didn't look close enough. There has to be something."

He hesitates, just for a moment. "Nope, not a thing."

Her expression clearly reads that she smells bullshit but she doesn't say anything. After a beat, she pulls a key-chain from her pocket. There are no keys on the chain, just a round black plastic device with two buttons on it that looks to Kocher like a car remote. "Agent Maria Hill closing off surveillance of the Level Seven Lounge because I want some damned privacy, Director." She clicks the second button and then tosses the key-chain on the table. Then she folds her hands on the tabletop and leans forward. "Okay, _spill_."

"There's no surveillance in the lounge!"

"Of course not," she says blandly.

"Well, if there _is_ surveillance, you're little message more or less says: 'Look at me, I'm discussing something super secret!' No way Fury lets this slide."

"The Director and I have an agreement. I'll decide whether or not I need to tell him, and he trusts me to make that call. You should, too."

"And he just _gave_ you a remote to turn-off surveillance in the Hub?"

She gives a rather loud and entirely unladylike snort. "Of course not. But Person might have 'accidentally on purpose' let one slip from his pocket."

Kocher trusts Ray Person's technological genius, even if he privately suspects the man might be clinically insane. He takes a slow breath and says, "I'm really not comfortable with Director Fury knowing about this right now. It's loose, suspicion-only kind of stuff."

"I'm assuming that whatever this big secret is, it was enough to get you punched in the face by Captain America."

"Like I said, it's mostly just a theory."

"Stop hyping this up more than it could possibly warrant and just tell me already, Eric."

Kocher takes a long swig of beer. Then he asks, "What do you know about New Mexico?"

___________________________________________________

It's always surprising to Kocher to realize how much time as an agent he spends flying around on airplanes. Of course, it helps that the S.H.I.E.L.D planes are private pimped-out stealth jets with all the amenities of home. He's got his own room and everything, and he's pretty sure his bed on the plane far surpasses the one he has in his apartment, even if it is bolted to the floor. He's gotten very good at sleeping through turbulence.

It's relevant because Kocher is on a S.H.I.E.L.D plane when the first readings come through. Apparently, there's been a seismic event in Puente Antiguo, New Mexico. Relatively small on the Richter scale, "Aftershocks, most likely," Doctor Fletcher reports as she analyzes the data.

"Aftershocks from what?" is Kocher's question. There have been no earthquakes in the area.

"I have no idea." 

"Well, our orders are to investigate, so see what you can pull up before we touch down."

Three minutes after the first seismic event, reports come in of a second similar event. The most interesting data Fletcher can pull up are not, as one might suspect, the readings on plate tectonics but rather the strange atmospheric disturbances that preceded both events. 

Kocher's team goes to the first site and finds a perfect circle of smooth ground covered in black designs that appear to be Celtic. "A landing site, do you think? Maybe an alien spaceship? It's the right shape for it," agent Brunmeier says.

"Dawg, this ain't no alien landing pad. Look how small this mess is," agent Espera retorts as he steps into the center of the circle. "It's what, six feet diameter? Those are some tiny fucking aliens."

Kocher rolls his eyes. "Both of you shut up. Espera, put in a call. We need some linguists out here. Maybe they can make sense of this."

Three yards away they find the second site. It's marked by a massive crater and, in the very center, a hammer embedded in rock.

___________________________________________________

"I read the brief. I know about Mjolnir," Hill says. "Where are you going with this?"

___________________________________________________

By the time Kocher's team gets to the second site half the population of Puente Antiguo has had a go at the hammer trying to pull it loose from the stone. No one manages to budge it and Kocher has no qualms chasing everyone off and erecting a base of operations around the thing.

S.H.I.E.L.D sends in teams of scientists from just about every branch of science there is. There are people monitoring weather patterns, plate tectonics, solar flares, everything. No one knows where this hammer came from, which means that every possibility is being explored.

The team of linguists analyzing the markings at the first site are mostly stumped but they manage to agree that the writing on the side of the hammer reads, 'Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.'

Who Thor is, and whether or not he's interested in retrieving his hammer is still up for debate, the theories ranging from some kind of advertising gimmick to the Norse god himself. Kocher's not sure where he falls on that broad spectrum, but he has a brief moment of hope when a guy breaks into the compound during a particularly rough storm, beats up half the agents on the base and proceeds to walk up to the hammer with swaggering confidence. He reaches down with a sort of entitlement and expectation that just seems right. Most guys Kocher has seen pulling at the thing use two hands because they're expecting it to be heavy, but this guy reaches out with his right hand and holds it like he assumes he'll have no difficulty.

When he pulls, though, nothing happens. 

Kocher stands there for a minute as the intruder tugs at the hammer, his boots slipping in the mud, his shirt soaked through. Most everyone Kocher has seen take their turn with the thing have accepted their failure with an embarrassed shrug or a sheepish smile. That's how Kocher had reacted when his efforts had failed to pay off.

This guy collapses onto his knees, the dirt soaking into his jeans, his long blond hair obscuring his face. He roars; there's no other word for it. Anger and frustration in his voice, and all that emotion is directed up at the sky like he knows someone is up there, listening.

It's a sight to behold but Kocher doesn't let it go on for all that long. He orders his agents to move in and the intruder cooperates right up until Brunmeier tries to slap a set of cuffs on him, and then all bets are off. He leaves the same way he came in, a wake of groaning agents lying in the muck. 

After three months Kocher gets a report that a team of engineers managed to dig up enough rock to move the hammer, which is now in secure holdings at an undisclosed S.H.I.E.L.D facility.

___________________________________________________

"Tell me there is a point to this story," Hill says. "Are you trying to tell me that you think you found Thor?" She narrows her eyes when he says silent. This time when she says it her voice is dripping with doubt, "You found Thor."

"I didn't go into the bar expecting to find anything," Kocher says, trying to make his theory sound a little more plausible. "After a while I just wondered what it was about this particular place that Fick wanted to keep to himself. I mean, for a guy who can't get drunk he spends a lot of time at a bar. Honestly, when I walked in after him I thought I'd find a pretty girl who looked sort of like Peggy, or a guy who resembled Bucky or, I dunno, just something totally mundane that made this place feel familiar to the guy or something."

"Maybe he just wanted personal space!" 

"Right, and that thought also crossed my mind," he says. "I walked through the front door, I didn't skulk around and try to hide my presence. I acknowledged Fick right off and tried to make it clear that I was there casually, not to observe him or anything."

"All of which you managed to convey in your greeting: 'fancy seeing you here'?" She rubs a hand over her brow, her eyes scrunched closed like she's suddenly suffering from a migraine. "As openings go, that was pretty stupid don't you think? He knew you were following him, you both had an agreement that the bar was off limits. It wasn't a coincidence that you ran into him there."

"Okay, and in retrospect I can see how that might have been the wrong thing to say."

"You think? Eric, _I_ would have punched you in the face!"

" _That's_ my point," Kocher exclaims. "Because he didn't punch me until _after_ I noticed his friend."

She groans. "Right, his friend who you suddenly think might be Thor. Okay, let me just explain to you why that's ridiculous. The only information we have on this guy is a bunch of ancient Norse _legends_. The odds of you finding him in some bar in the middle of New York are astronomically slim."

" _I_ didn't find him," he points out. " _Captain America_ found him. If superheroes can attract amped up villains like bees to honey, why can't they attract _other superheroes_? I know this is thin, Maria, but I remember that guy from the compound. He was tall and blond. Even if he wasn't strong enough to pick up the hammer he was still … he was still _strong_. He _expected_ to be able to heft Mjolnir. It just _looked_ right."

"Except then he _failed_ to lift the thing."

"We kept waiting for something to happen in New Mexico but nothing ever did. We had this guy bust-in and tear up the place and then run-off, and that was it. This is an origin story that's been _months_ in the making."

"I thought you said this is all just a theory? Now you're talking about origin stories…Eric, you're losing me here."

"How many times does Fury tell us to entertain _every_ possibility?"

She sighs. "Okay, so let me guess. You happened to find a tall, strong, blond guy in the bar in New York."

"He's the bartender." Sure, when she says it like _that_ it sounds ridiculous but "You didn't see him, Maria. … He _pulled Fick back_."

"Fick was already pulling his punches. That doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"No, Fick laid me out. Yeah, he was holding back but he was standing his ground. This guy, he just wrapped a hand around Fick's shoulder and pulled him back and Fick just … he just _went_."

Kocher remembers the menacing glare in Fick's eyes, the flush of red in the other man's cheeks. His fists had still been clenched at his sides and Kocher had held very still, sensing that any movement on his part might be interpreted as an invitation for further attack. 

Then the bartender had reached out, his hand clamping loosely on Fick's shoulder and tugging. "Nate," the guy had said, soft and rough, and Fick had been pulled backward, had _stumbled_ back really, unbalanced.

"You're right," Hill says, dryly. "Clearly this mysterious bartender _must_ be the god of lightning. There's _no other_ conceivable explanation."

Kocher spins his bottle around on the table. He knows what this sounds like, that it's a little ridiculous but he works for S.H.I.E.L.D. for Christ's sake, ridiculous goes hand-in-hand with the job description. He hadn't expected to be dismissed so hastily because if anyone would agree about the level of absurdity involved in their day-to-day, then it was Maria. 

Besides, what were the other possibilities? That Fick really did want personal space and picked a bar just because he felt like it. That, despite their previous friendly interactions, Fick refused to acknowledge Kocher as anything beyond on agent if S.H.I.E.L.D. That Captain America had bad days. All of which was certainly possible, and maybe even more likely than stumbling across a Norse god moonlighting as a bartender.

"Do you ever just … get a sense about something?" he asks. "Just, an intuition that something's just _right_?" 

Hill watches him for a moment, then she reaches out, catching his bottle mid-spin and stilling it. "You really think Fick might know Thor?"

"It's crazy, right?" He rubs his brow, tosses the icepack onto the table. "I mean, how do you even _start_ that conversation with someone: 'Hi, I'm a god from Norse mythology.'"

She shrugs. "The same way you say: 'I'm a genetically modified super-soldier who fought in World War Two and the secret to my good looks is I've been sleeping in a block of ice for the past seventy years.'"

"Okay, so none of this is normal, is that what you're saying?"

Hill smiles and shakes her head. "I'm saying none of this is outside the realm of possibility. But it's still a stretch." Her face softens. "You don't get to Level Seven by ignoring intuition. Keep me posted."

___________________________________________________

The bar is called Moon Under Water and it's owned by a sweet-faced blonde named Jennifer, "Call me Jenny." She has a fiancé who writes, mostly for magazines.

"I bought this place when I retired from my work as a lawyer," she tells him as she fixes him a drink. She's the only person behind the bar at the moment, there's a couple sitting in a booth by the window but they're happy to be ignored.

"Aren't you a little on the young-side? To be retired, I mean?" Kocher asks.

"Damned right," Jenny says. "But I'm not retired. I'm just not a lawyer anymore. This is better. This works for me."

It turns out she and her fiancé went road-tripping not that long ago in an RV. Kocher raises his eyebrows and asks casually, "Through New Mexico by any chance?" 

"Sure, we stopped in New Mexico. New Orleans, too. We went through a whole bunch of places. Traveling helps Evan get ideas when he gets stuck." 

Kocher tries but she's maddeningly impossible to pin-down on details. He can't tell if she's being intentionally cagey or not, mostly she seems happy to chat, friendly and open and entirely innocent. He doesn't take anything at surface value but he's certain this woman could slip through an interrogation with Nick Fury and still give nothing away.

He swings the conversation back to the bar and she's happy to talk about her staff, "They're like family!" She has a few waitresses who she names off, and two chefs, "They trade off, one for the day shift, and one who comes out when the bar is really hopping."

She does some of the bar-tending herself, "As you can see!" but she has two people who work behind the bar. "Isobelle and Brad." 

The person who pulled Fick off of him definitely didn't look like an Isobelle, so Kocher asks about Brad.

Brad Colbert is a quiet guy, very private and incredibly polite. "We get fights in here sometimes," Jenny says. "I mean, it's a bar, things happen, and Brad breaks them up in seconds and the guys -- who were ready to kill each other only moments before -- they end up gushing all over him, apologizing and offering to pay for any damage, and he never shouts or really gets physical." That's about all she'll tell him, though. 

Even when he pretends to be a friend visiting from out of town she won't give away any personal information: "I don't know you. Sorry." Not even a clue as to where the guy likes to spend his down time. Eventually asking any more questions would look too suspicious so Kocher backs-off.

He does manage to learn from Jenny that Colbert apparently prefers day shifts, so he swings by again on a day he knows Fick isn't there and has a chance to speak to the man directly. Colbert eyes him flatly and doesn't extend any greeting. He doesn't even ask if Kocher wants a drink.

Eventually, after enduring the icy stare for an awkward stretch of time Kocher says, "I'm sorry about the other day. Fick and I have a history… not bad, I promise. But it's complicated."

Colbert sets the glass he has been polishing aside. "Is it romantic? This history you both share?" 

"No!" Kocher blurts. "No, it definitely _isn't_."

"I understand how romantic entanglements sometimes obfuscate matters."

"Well, there is definitely no romantic entanglement between us." 

Those cool blue eyes continue to bore into him. "Is the complication that your affections are unrequited?"

"Look, there's no 'affections' between Fick and I. He's a good guy, I respect him. That's it. Seriously."

"I see," Colbert says, and then promptly proves that he _doesn't_ see by adding, "The complication is that you find the notion of amorous relations between those of the same gender morally repugnant."

"No, that's not…" Kocher starts to say, and then catches the glint in those blue eyes and is immediately derailed. "Are you _messing_ with me?"

He gets a sharp little smile in return. "That's distinctly possible," Colbert says. "What do you want to drink?"

Kocher asks for 'Sex on the Beach' hoping that the notion of ordering a fruity cocktail in the middle of the day might prompt Colbert into more teasing, which might in turn establish a sense of camaraderie, which would simplify his intelligence gathering. Instead, the blond does a sort of double-take and then walks off, presumably to fix the drink. 

When Colbert returns the glass he sets down is filled with a liquid that is very green. Apparently, Colbert mizes this particular cocktail with lime rather than orange. "Interesting," Kocher says, trying to avoid contorting his face overmuch as he takes a sip. "I've never seen it made this way." It doesn't taste anything like a real Sex on the Beach, there's no Peach Schnapps, for one. There's a fruity sort of flavoring to it but it's too tart and very heavy on the alcohol.

"It's the bar's specialty," Colbert says, though his expression is impossible decipher. 

Kocher would accuse the guy of not actually knowing how to make the drink, but there's something in the flat, steady gaze that makes him keep his mouth shut. "It's good," he lies. 

Colbert gives him absolutely nothing to work with. After an hour spent trying to glean any sort of information, Kocher manages to learn only that the man has a tendency of talking in an eccentrically formal cadence, that his humor is dry and cutting, and that he is unrepentantly sarcastic. He uses pop culture references incorrectly, and every cocktail he mixes is lethally strong. 

Despite having only the one drink Kocher leaves the bar unable to walk in a straight line. He returns to the Hub and endeavors to sober-up in the lounge while he gives Hill his report. "Are you going to tell Fury?" he asks her.

"Tell him what? That you can't hold your liquor?" She smiles, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you still don't know anything for certain. Why would I go to Fury with this?" 

"Thanks, Maria." 

She pulls a bottle of aspirin from the pantry and sets it down by his elbow beside the bottled water he's nursing. "God, _one_ cocktail. That's just sad."

"It wouldn't be sad if it turned out that the cocktail was made by a Norse god."

"Nope. Getting hammered off of one cocktail is sad no matter who made your drink," she says. She squeezes his shoulder as she heads toward the door. "Take care of yourself out there."

Kocher pillows his head on his arms and tries to remember that he's actually sitting perfectly still. "You too."

  
___________________________________________________ 

Two weeks later the Tesseract is stolen from a classified S.H.I.E.L.D research facility, Hill almost dies, one of their best agents is compromised (which in this case means being hypnotized in seconds flat and without a word being spoken, and suddenly becoming a very helpful and incredibly bad guy), and S.H.I.E.L.D (and all of Earth, actually) is hopelessly, _hilariously_ , outmatched by their latest adversary.

They're scrambling, no other word for it. While agent Romanoff is sent to bring-in Walt Hasser, and agent Hill is tasked with sweet-talking Ray Person into answering his phone, Kocher finds himself knocking on Fick's apartment door. He's not sure what to expect but when Fick opens the door his green eyes immediately flash to Kocher's cheek where the bruise has faded to nothing. "Agent Kocher. I apologize for hitting you, I was out of line."

"Forget about it."

"No, it wasn't right. I wanted to apologize sooner but … my cellphone isn't working and it wasn't a conversation I wanted to have over a phone line that Director Fury is probably monitoring."

"Oh, well…" Kocher debates whether he should inform Fick that his cellphone is also monitored but figures the guy is probably assuming the cell is safe because it doesn't physically plug-in anywhere, which could lead to explaining satellites and frequencies and shit that he doesn't have time for so he settles on saying, "It's fine, really. I understand. I'm sorry too." 

They stand there, Kocher in the hallway and Fick blocking the door, which is sort of suspicious since the guy usually has impeccable manners. "Can I come in?" Kocher prompts.

"I'm sorry, this isn't a good time for me. I've got company over." A pinkish flush spreads over Fick's face as he says this. If it were anyone other than Captain America Kocher knows the conclusions he'd be drawing here. He double-checks, just in case but Fick's clothes are all in place and look just as well pressed as always. There's a dark smudge on the fingers of his right hand that Kocher thinks might be charcoal, but other than that the guy looks pristine. 

He feels bad when he's forced to say, "I wouldn't insist, but it's an emergency. S.H.I.E.L.D needs your help."

Fick steps out of his apartment, the door slamming behind him in his haste. "What happened?"

"That's probably better discussed in your apartment."

"What happened?" Fick repeats, his voice firm and demanding, it's what agent Hill has referred to as the man's 'Captain' voice. Kocher didn't get what she meant until just now.

Keeping his own voice low, Kocher finds himself answering, "We're under attack. An alien from the planet Asgard, who calls himself Loki." He's expecting Fick to catch on the word 'alien' or maybe 'planet'. 

Instead, Fick's brows pinch together and he murmurs, "Asgard," and the way he says it speaks of a level of familiarity that's surprising. Like it's not the first time he's heard the name.

Again, Kocher's eyes shift from the charcoal smudges on Fick's hands to the door that the man is blocking off. How many people does Fick know these days, outside of agents? Can't be all that many. The only other time Fick has put himself between S.H.I.E.L.D and something else, it was a blond bartender that Kocher hadn't really been all that interested in until he'd earned a punch in the face just for asking to be introduced.

Right now, Fick is an immovable wall between Kocher and the apartment door, and though the guy's hands are loose at his sides it wouldn't take much for him to spring into action. Kocher meets Fick's steady green gaze squarely. "Nate," he says. "We're in over our heads. If you can think of _anyone_ who might be able to help us right now…" Fick flashes him a dark look and glances away, but Kocher continues, "We've got a Hulk, and a guy in a metal suit, and we've got you. But this Loki guy is basically a _god_ and…"

"I signed up for this," Fick says, cutting him off. "I knew once I went through with Doctor Erskine's procedure that a part of my life would be this." His gesture indicates Kocher and the crappy apartment building, but Kocher knows it also means the surveillance, the tests. "I knew what I was getting into."

Kocher can understand that. Hell, he can even sympathize, but if it's the difference between stopping Loki and being enslaved, well… " _Please_."

After a tense stretch of silence Fick nods. "I'm not promising anything except that I'll ask. And if the answer is 'no' then you need to back off. Are we clear?"

"We're clear."

"I'm assuming you want me at the Hub? I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Kocher is standing at the front entrance of the Hub seventeen minutes later when Fick strides in, a familiar blond figure shadowing his steps. Colbert doesn't look much like a Norse god of thunder, not that Kocher has seen a lot of those around, just that Colbert is dressed in faded blue jeans and a blue T-shirt. True, the T-shirt fits snugly enough to indicate a toned physique, but having muscles doesn't necessarily indicate special powers. Kocher knows, he's pretty buff and he can't summon rain and lightning, which is one of several abilities that Thor supposedly has (if 'The Children's Guide to Norse Gods and Goddesses' is worth anything.)

"Agent Kocher." Fick's quirking smile is present in full-force, he looks strangely proud when he says, "This is Brad Colbert."

"We've met." Kocher extends his hand and is somewhat relieved that Colbert's grip, while strong, isn't unduly forceful. "Should I call you Colbert, or Thor?"

"I prefer Colbert," the blond says. "But I suppose either would be equally valid."

___________________________________________________

Whatever hope Kocher had that Thor, Brad, Colbert, _whoever_ , would swoop-in and save the day is more or less gone when the guy explains that he's pretty much just an average mortal. Standing in the Director's office on the twenty-third floor of the Hub between agent Hill and Director Fury, it's a bit of relief to realize he's not the only one feeling disappointed.

"No offense," Directory Fury says to Colbert while he shoots Kocher a particularly irritated glare with his one good eye. "But we're facing the imminent threat of global annihilation, so would you mind explaining to me how your presence here isn't just wasting time that I _don't_ have?"

Kocher expects the blond to look chastened, or to get irritated. Instead, Colbert draws himself up straighter, his hands clasped behind his back in a perfect mirroring of Fury's posture. "I didn't come here to fight. Loki is my brother. I came here to negotiate."

"Okay," Fury drawls, and then adds sarcastically, "So which one of you was adopted?"

Colbert doesn't even blink. "Loki is born of the Frost Giants."

Fury nods like this is all making sense. "So he's a Frost Giant who claims to be from Asgard, and you're his _human_ brother from...?"

"From Asgard."

Kocher swears he sees the corner of Fury's eye twitch. He glances over at Fick who catches the look and rolls his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation. Fury asks, "Are there many humans on Asgard?"

To which Colbert answers, "There aren't _any_ humans on Asgard."

The Director's irritation is plainly evident to everyone except Colbert, apparently, who remains inscrutable. "Are you being deliberately unhelpful or is this simply _accidental_ stupidity?"

Colbert smirks. "You told me not to waste your time, I am merely attempting to be succinct." Then his smirk shifts to a sly grin as he adds, "For the record, I don't believe stupidity is ever accidental."

"Noted." Then Fury sighs and nods his head, "Okay. Begin at the beginning."

Colbert is concise in his explanation, which means that when the man is finished his elucidation on how he was stripped of his title (crown prince) and his powers (numerous and widely varied), and banished from his home (the palace) and his planet (Asgard), Kocher has more questions than he does answers. 

How the man went from being essentially a god to tending a bar is only cursorily explained by the fact that the first two people Thor met when he landed on Earth were Evan and Jennifer who took him in, fixed him up with a false ID and gave him a place to work. Kocher doesn't see how witnessing someone drop out of the sky could incite that level of helpfulness, but Fury is looking impatient as it is so his questions will have to wait.

"At the moment we’re struggling to figure out what it is that Loki wants," Fury says. "Got any ideas?"

"Loki has been coveting a throne since we were children, I think he means to take Earth as his kingdom. If that's the case, he won't be alone. He'll have an ally, someone who can provide him with an army."

"And you think you can make him see reason?"

"I believe it is my duty to try." Colbert's gaze shifts over to Fick and then returns to Fury. "Loki and I are my father's only children. I am mortal now; even if my father died tomorrow I could not ascend the throne. I believe the allure of ruling Asgard will be greater than the prospect of subjugating Midgard."

"Which begs the question," Hill says. "If he's naturally next in line to rule Asgard, what's he doing here at all? How can we be certain he isn't already king of your planet and simply intent on expanding his territory?"

Again Colbert shifts a glance Fick's way. Kocher wonders what part of this already complex story is being held back but he stays silent. Colbert shakes his head slowly. "Odin-Allfather is not yet dead. Even in this mortal form, I would know were that the case."

There's not much they can do from the Hub that a whole bunch of other (specifically trained) S.H.I.E.L.D agents aren't already doing. About the time they are wrapping up an impromptu brainstorm on Loki's possible tactics, agent Romanoff calls in to report that she has successfully wrangled Hasser onto the Helicarrier. "He's suspicious as hell, sir," she says over speakerphone. "But for the moment I think I've managed to convince him we're not interested in 'the other guy', but rather what Hasser can do to help us find the Tesseract."

"Good," Fury says. "We're on our way to you. Get him working right away." 

Kocher is tasked with ushering Fick and Colbert to the roof where a jet is already waiting to fly them over to the Helicarrier. Just as he's leaving the office he hears Fury order Hill to arrange for the hammer to be shipped along with them.

"It's not going to fit on the jet," Hill points out.

"However you need to get it done, just _get it done_."

"But sir," she says. "Colbert said he can't wield it anymore." 

Whatever Fury says in response is lost when Kocher lets the door close. "This way, gentlemen," he says to Fick and Colbert, and starts walking.

___________________________________________________

Loki makes the first move. Or the second move or, actually now that he thinks about it, Loki has been making _all_ the moves and S.H.I.E.L.D has been desperately fumbling around in response, _reacting_ rather than on the offensive. Hopefully that's about the change.

Loki attacks the opera house in Stuttgart and when the report of a positive ID is made Romanoff heads off to start prepping a jet. "Suit up, Captain," Fury says to Fick, and then turns his attention back to surveying the main flight deck.

Kocher's the only one who catches the whispered argument that Fick, clad in his modified suit and carrying his vibranium shield has with Colbert (still in jeans and a T-shirt) at the foot of the jet where Natasha is waiting. He doesn't catch how it starts but it ends when Colbert snarls, "Is that an _order_ , Nate?"

Fick says, "Brad." That one word manages to convey Fick's apology as well as his insistence, that he's speaking as a captain concerned for the welfare of a fellow-soldier, and also as a man concerned for his friend – his lover, or whatever they are to each other because Kocher hasn't figured that out either. 

It's perfectly evident that Colbert wishes to protest further, and also that he is distinctly unhappy, but Fick wins. The jet takes off and Colbert doesn't even stand to watch it go. 

He's there to meet it when it returns though, waiting a few feet to the side as Ray Person comes striding out in his shining red metal suit, the face-plate pulled back. He's dragging a man along behind him, Fick bringing up the rear. Kocher realizes that the man being unceremoniously hauled around wearing thick electronic handcuffs must be Loki, and he spares a glance over to Colbert, searching for any family resemblance.

Both men are tall, Loki a few inches shorter and with considerably less build. There's a lean and hungry look about him, and though his eyes are a similarly pale blue to his brother's, Colbert's gaze is steady and clear and his brother's looks glazed, almost manic. "Brother dear," Loki drawls when he lays eyes on Colbert. His voice is posh and dripping with insincerity. 

Colbert shifts and Fury says, "Wait." Apparently there is enough of a promise in the tone for the blond to comply.

The alien trickster demigod gets locked up in a glass tube built to withstand the Hulk himself in his prissiest mood, and everyone else returns to the flight deck, to the large round table where they start brainstorming how to get Loki to cooperate. They need to know where the Tesseract is. Fury turns to Colbert. "You said you wanted to negotiate."

"Isn't that exactly what Loki will be expecting?" Fick pipes up. 

Kocher sees the muscle in Colbert's jaw jump, but the blond nods agreement. "Nate's right. He'll be expecting that play."

Later, while Romanoff goes to interrogate to their prisoner, Kocher restlessly patrols the ship. In situations like this he feels more of less superfluous. He's a field agent, just like Hill and agents Romanoff and Barton. The difference is that Romanoff had some pretty freaky and intensive spy training before she jumped ship and joined the good guys. Barton might not have been trained by any Russians, but circus-folk are their own brand of intense and scary, and there's a very good reason as to why the guy is nicknamed 'The World's Greatest Marksman'. There are posters to prove it, even.

Kocher is just a guy. He was a Marine before he was a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, he's a good shot with just about any weapon (except a bow and arrow) but he's not breaking any records. He can handle himself in a fight. There was a time when he had a pretty solid ego when it came to his capabilities, but that was before he saw Captain America in action, or the Hulk. Before Person invented a whole robotic suit of armor. Before a hammer fell out of the sky that no one could budge.

Not that he has a complex or anything, but hanging out with superheroes puts things into sharp perspective. Kocher is smart but he's not genius-level smart. He can say this with confidence after he swings by the labs and hears Person and Hasser geeking-out over gamma radiation and finishing each other's sentences as they fiddle with knobs and dials and propose theories and tests that might prove or disprove those theories. 

He's strong, but he's no Captain America. He's pretty cunning but he's got nothing on Romanoff. His anger-issues certainly don't come close to Hasser's. Kocher is just a guy, the way that Hill is just a girl. Woman. Geez. But even Hill has a whole ship to command while Fury turns his attention to Loki and more pressing matters. Kocher's at loose ends because a field agent isn't any good on a plane, and even if there is action coming their way he isn't likely to be called in. 

His patrol takes him along the upper deck of the cargo bay, empty except for the massive cut of dense rock into which Mjolnir is lodged. Just as he's starting a circuit along the catwalk he catches hushed voices and spots Fick and Colbert. How he missed them is a mystery, especially as Fick is still in his brightly colored suit, though his shield isn't readily visible. Their faces are difficult to make out in the shadows, and their posture gives nothing away. They stand side-by-side, about a foot of space between them. 

"I'm going to have to talk to him," Colbert is saying.

Fick nods. "I know."

"This ' S.H.I.E.L.D' organization might have the best interests of Midgard in mind, but I don't trust them when it comes to my brother."

"I'm not asking you to trust _them_?" The emphasis in Fick's tone is pointed. 

Colbert sighs. When he speaks again his voice is quieter. "I won't be responsible for the death of innocent people. Nate, he's here because of _me_. Whatever it is that's been awakening my abilities, he must sense it."

"Could it simply be that your dad's starting to forgive you?"

Colbert snorts. "I haven't been doing anything especially princely in the past few months."

"I don't know..." Fick tips to the side as he considers. "Maybe that's the point?" 

"Are you suggesting that I'm arrogant, Nate?"

There's the sound of a dry laugh. "I wouldn't presume."

"I'll have you know there is a difference between modesty and lying."

The laugh only gets louder. "Of course."

"Even as a mortal, on my _worst_ day, I am _still_ more capable than half the plebeians on this boat. Stop laughing," Colbert adds, jostling Fick's arm gently. "I've taken a vow to defend Midgard with my life, and that still holds even if I am stuck in this mortal form."

"It's not all bad, is it?"

"I'm over three millennia old, Nate. I used to be able to _fly_ , to say nothing of my superior strength and ability in combat…"

"That's still pretty impressive. You're stamina, I mean," Fick jokes.

"My healing abilities were unmatched by most everyone, except perhaps Eir. I was practically invulnerable, and that's without mentioning my command over the weather, or the time travel or…"

"Okay, I get it. Geez!"

"It's not all bad," Colbert whispers, and Kocher can't stop his eyebrows from jumping almost clear off of his head when the blond wraps a hand around the back of Fick's head and drags him forward into a kiss. 

All assumptions of Fick's level of innocence fly out the door when he turns the chaste touch of lips into a proper lip lock. Kocher squeezes his eyes tightly shut and concentrates on reciting the Pledge of Allegiance in his head.

When he next tunes-in he's apparently missed a portion of conversation because Colbert is vowing to rain death and destruction down on all of S.H.I.E.L.D if at any point they take it into their heads to torture and or kill his brother. 

" _Neither one of us_ is gonna let that happen," Fick says, entirely serious. "We'll find some way to get him back to Asgard."

Kocher leaves when they start kissing again. That's one question answered at least, and in keeping with the trend, about three more raised in its place because, Colbert's powers have been resurfacing? How long has _that_ been happening? More importantly, what exactly does that mean?

___________________________________________________

By the time the sirens go off all hell has already broken loose.

They've lost one of the engines and they've been boarded by an untold number of hostiles. Person and Fick go off to take care of the engines; Hasser and Romanoff are trying to deal with the hostiles, which rapidly becomes complete pandemonium when Hasser shifts and ends up smashing anything and everything he can get his hands on, friend or foe alike. Kocher's first stop is the armory where he grabs the biggest gun he can find, which happens to be an untested prototype. Then he heads to Loki's cell.

He gets there just in time to see Colbert's tackling leap that would be nothing but impressive if not for the fact that Loki turns out to be a mirage, a trap set in place in order to capture Colbert in the glass prison. As Loki's visage flickers out of place the door slides shut, and the _real_ Loki rocks on his heels looking smug. "Are you ever _not_ going to fall for that?" he taunts, stepping away from the control panel.

"Mother _fucker_!" Colbert snarls, pounding a closed fist against the glass.

"Oh dear," Loki tuts. "It seems you've acquired _quite_ the foul mouth in your exile. Mother would be appalled."

Colbert gets his chance to try appealing to his brother's better nature, and since Kocher has no reason to believe that Loki in fact possesses even a fleck of what might be construed as a better nature, he arms his weapon.

This turns out to be quite lucky, because when Colbert says, "Take _my_ life, and be satisfied," Loki actually reaches out to press the big red button that will jettison the glass prison out of the helicarrier and send it plummeting to earth. Colbert included.

The good news is, the untested prototype works just fine. It sends a staggering blast out of the barrel and cuts an impressive whole through three walls in the plane. It would be even better if Kocher managed to hit Loki, but it turns out the bastard was just another mirage. 

It happens in slow-motion. Kocher stands stands there bracing the gun and processing the fact that Loki has once again used the _same_ magical trick. He becomes aware of the 'thump thump' sound of Colbert's fists on the glass of his cage, the blond is shouting something that Kocher, whose ears are still ringing, can't make out. He hears the swish of fabric right behind him though, and just as he's turning to face what can only be Loki – creeping up behind him like a coward – there is a resounding smash and the whole right-hand wall crumbles as a zooming mass blasts through it and continues on-course, knocking the scepter that Loki is holding ready to stab through Kocher's chest right out of the bastard's hands and shattering the glass of the holding cell to land with a solid 'whump' in an outstretched hand.

" _Holy shit_ ," Kocher breathes at the same moment that Loki says, "Oh _perfect_."

Colbert is standing amidst the broken shards of his prison but he doesn't look anything like he did a moment ago. For one, there's a massive red cape billowing behind him and he's in some kind of weird, tight-fitting dark-blue armor. Mjolnir is resting easily in his right hand and he raises it, pointing it in his brother's direction. "That would have been a nasty trick, brother."

Loki sneers. "I'm not done yet, _brother_."

There's a sharp twanging ache that shoots up unexpectedly in Kocher's right side. Dazed, he realizes it is a knife wound. "You son of a …" he begins to says, glaring at the black haired figure standing beside him, but before he gets all the words out Colbert – Thor – shoots forward and Loki has better things to do than be cussed out by a dying man. Like try and defend himself. 

Staggering away from the fray Kocher props himself against a wall and then drops onto the grated floor, pressing both his hands painfully against his side as he tries to staunch the blood flow. "I hope he smashes your face in with his hammer," he says, and then lets his eyes close.

___________________________________________________

When he opens them again he's lying in the medical wing on the helicarrier and Fick, Thor and Person are standing at the foot of his bed. "We haven't crashed," Kocher says by way of greeting.

Fick smiles proudly. "I fixed the engine!" 

"Fuck that," Person says, rolling his eyes. "You _pulled the red lever_ , is what you did, and even _then_ you were late."

Both of Fick's eyebrows jerk upward, defiant. "I rewired the control panel."

"With _my_ help!" Ray retorts, crossing his arms.

"Gentlemen," Thor – Colbert – drawls. Both Fick and Person snap-to immediately. 

Kocher notes this with some amusement. "You know, when you said you were Thor, I sort of thought you were bullshitting us," he says, which earns him a strangely pleased looking grin from the blond. "Is this how you usually look?" he can't help asking.

Colbert glances down at his armor. "More or less. Is that a problem?"

"No!" 

Unhelpfully, Person starts to snicker, and Colbert's gaze darts back and forth between them, clearly perplexed. 

"I think," Fick says as he casts a pointed and disapproving look in Person's direction. "What agent Kocher means is, it's an impressive look."

"I see," Colbert says in such a way that implies that he doesn't quite see but is willing to write this off as human peculiarity. Then he brightens. "The doctors say that you are stable. I'm glad."

"Oh," Kocher says. "Good. And thanks for … you know."

"No need." At least Colbert seems just as awkward. "I apologize for my brother…"

"No need." Funny, but Kocher had actually managed to forget about that oily bastard. "Where _is_ Loki, anyway?"

"Walt's looking after him," Person says with a slightly sadistic smile. "You sure you're okay, buddy?"

"I'm fine. They've got me on some pretty strong drugs I guess, but I don't feel a thing."

"Good boy." Person claps a hand on Kocher's shoulder. "Anyway, blondy's brother told us where the Tesseract is. Apparently he's about to unleash all manner of hell on New York."

Kocher starts to get out of bed but is halted by a bite of pain in his side. He settles for glaring at his visitors. "What the hell are you waiting around here for?" 

"Easy, bro!" Person holds his hands up in mock-surrender. "It's all totally under control. Oh hey, and Romanoff wanted me to tell you that Barton's back. Or she's pretty sure he is, but she's keeping him under close watch just in case. It's all pretty much just wrap up."

"With the small exception for the alien army that's set to invade Earth," Fick corrects, sounding chipper.

"Subduing the Chitauri forces will be child's play." Colbert hefts Mjolnir, grinning like a little kid who's just been promised a day at an amusement park.

Person's grin is eerily similar. "Yeah, what he said!" They both offer him the same sharp little nods, too, before they go striding out of the hospital wing, which makes Kocher slightly worried about what the future might hold. 

"So." Kocher raises an eyebrow at Fick. "You and Thor, huh?" In answer, Fick does a pretty striking impersonation of a strawberry. "Isn't that weird for you? I mean, he's basically a god…"

Fick's eyes shift toward the door that Colbert just left through. He smirks. "There's only one god, agent, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."

Kocher sniggers. "Wouldn't _that_ be an interesting world," he says.

"I'm glad you're okay," Fick says with a smile. "Truly. But if you'll excuse me, I am being repeatedly informed that the Avengers are assembling on the flight deck." 

In response to Kocher's inquisitive look Fick pulls an earbud radio from his ear, holding it out until Kocher can hear the tinny sound of Person saying, "Avengers assemble! That's a _great_ line! I'm _patenting_ that line!"

As Fick picks up his shield and heads out to save the day Kocher settles back against his pillows. He's sure he rests his eyes for only a moment but then there's the snap-hiss of a pop-tab being opened and when he opens his eyes again Hill is sitting in a plastic chair pulled up to the side of the bed drinking a soda. There's a cut on her left cheek and some of her hair has slipped out of the bun she's wearing but she looks mostly unruffled.

"Do you have time to be hanging out here?" he asks.

In answer, she takes a sip from the can. "Fury's gloating in front of the Council about how awesomely the Avengers Initiative has worked, leaving out a few key points of course like how Hasser basically destroyed the entire lower deck of the helicarrier, and a couple of buildings. The team radioed in a few minutes ago to say that they've successfully retrieved the Tesseract but that they won't be back for a while because they're stopping by a local shop for some shawarma. Apparently Person got hungry and Fick thinks it'll be a good team-building experience," she says, as a side-note. "Also, Loki has been properly detained, this time with a little help from the magically delicious Thor…"

"Captain's called dibs already," Kocher says with a smile.

"Really? Too bad." She shrugs. "I can still ogle his arms though. Anyway, to answer your question," she props her feet up on his bed and smiles. "I've got the time."

Just another day at S.H.I.E.L.D, really, and all at once, Kocher is reminder of why he loves his job.


End file.
